


Let the Drops Fall Where They May

by shakespearespaz



Category: Revolution (TV)
Genre: Dubious Consent, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-04-30
Updated: 2013-04-30
Packaged: 2017-12-09 23:51:50
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 7
Words: 4,194
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/779399
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/shakespearespaz/pseuds/shakespearespaz
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"It was an old cliché, to covet your brother’s wife, but it struck him how he’d never wanted her until he had her."</p><p>An attempt to explore the history between Rachel/Miles.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. there’ll be rain enough today

The military was what they knew so the military was what they built.

After the first truly harsh winter, spring finally returned. The warm, full days lit the world as it once was and betrayed the suffering of freezing nights it followed.

Miles was even more determined to move forward.

Their team of impromptu vigilantes had grown from three to at least fifty, already beginning to divide among itself. Structure was needed in their ranks and they knew exactly how to establish it.

Together he and Bass brought a certain amount of balance. Bass was rash and passionate, but captivating. Miles planned and questioned, but had enough skill in battle for the both of them. And they were both clever. Charisma and youth and a true craving to stop the bloodshed attracted capable individuals to their side.

Their future selves would so easily forget that once their names had stood for hope.

But Rome was not built in a day, nor did it fall in a day.

“I’m thinking about relocating, Miles.”

Pennsylvania was mostly covered and their troops itched to move further up the Eastern seaboard.

“Hasn’t it ever struck you how easy this is?” Miles hardly responded to Bass’ suggestion, his gaze far from their functional but plain headquarters.

“Did you hear me?”

“Solve one community squabble, give some defense suggestions, say you’ll help enforce them and a town will hand over its keys to you.”

“People want leaders.” Bass leaned forward onto the table.

“Force them into it and the bond’s only stronger.”

“I like the prospect of Independence Hall.”

“What?”

“As a new capital. It fits. And I’m sure we could straighten out Philly.”

Miles laughed.

“No one can straighten out Philly, Bass.”

“We did Chicago.”

“True.”

Urban areas were the most challenging. Most residents who managed to survive there were jaded, not expecting the Militia’s new grab at power to last any longer than the gangs that tried every week.

Miles paused, his brow folding in an increasingly more common rut.

“What are we trying to prove here? Do we actually control anything or are we just grasping at—I dunno—fog, smoke, whatever?”

“Miles, we control most of the Midwest. If you don’t believe it, test it. Being a leader doesn’t come without some perks.”

“What?” He studied his partner, certain what Bass was suggesting.

“What do you want? You have the power to have it.”

Miles shook his head.

“I can’t have what I want, Bass. And I can’t use the Militia to get it.”

“Really? You’ve assembled, organized, and inspired hundreds of soldiers to help stop the petty murder and crime that tore this nation apart. Don’t we deserve at least some reward? What good are hundreds of soldiers if you can’t use them?”

“Watch your rationalizing, Bass or we’ll become, like—bad guys.”

Bass laughed.

“You never were one with words,” he mocked his friend. “Fine. Besides, you got your family back. That’s why we dragged our sorry asses all the way back to this town in the first place. And our expansion to East goes well. So, what was the conclusion on Philly?”

Miles was quiet.

“They’re not here, though, are they?” he said, a seriousness hardening his voice.

“Who?”

“My family. My brother.”

“They’re nearby. Besides, I’m here.”

“I know, but…” he watched the table in front of them, wheels turning, “Didn’t Ben tell us that Rachel killed someone?”

“Yes.”

Bass had remembered that detail very clearly from the brief visit that had occurred between the brothers, when Ben had finally realized that the new sheriff in town was Miles. He had not remembered Rachel as much more than Ben’s attractive and smart wife, but had believed that she could kill someone in these trying times.

“Tell Jeremy to draw up a warrant for her arrest.”

“What are you doing, Miles?”

“I’m taking what I want, Bass.”


	2. i just play the hand i’m dealt

Given the fractured state of their world, passing along the message that Rachel was wanted was not easy. But the Militia’s reach grew each day and Miles had never underestimated the power of rumor.

He was still surprised when Ben stupidly stormed into their office soon after the order was given, his brother rightly enraged as he was escorted in.

“What do you want with Rachel?”

Miles nodded for the guards to leave, but let Bass, who was perched on the edge of the desk, stay.

“She’s a wanted criminal, Ben. She killed a man.” His reply was lackluster.

“And who hasn’t?”

“You haven’t.”

Ben swallowed.

“And you’ve more than made up for that,” he shot back.

“We’re helping bring back order,” Miles justified, “We can’t help it if there’s a cost.”

“The mother of my children is not going to be the cost. You’re my brother. You can’t do this.”

“I can’t? I’ve hardly seen you since the Blackout, Ben. In fact, Bass is more my brother now than you. We run the world together.”

Concern clouded Ben’s innocent face.

“Miles,” he began cautiously, “maybe it’s time to step back and look at what you’re doing.”

Bass shifted forward to join.

“We know what we’re doing. Now run along and tell Rachel this will all go much smoother if she hands herself in,” he explained, his voice paced and clear as if he were talking to a child.

Ben ignored him and stood his ground.

“I’ll leave,” he stated, “We’ll go far away and you’ll never see me or your family or her again.”

“Far away? With two kids in tow? You’ll be picked off like flies as soon as you leave the Republic.”  
  
“You can’t have her, Miles.” His voice grated low.

“I can have whatever I want. Otherwise—do you remember the Skinners?”

“What?”

“Lovely family. Mom insisted on dinner with them once a month. Absolute torture, but you were always the polite little son. Well, I’ve heard that they were, you know, fruitful and multiplied and have a nice community a little south of the city.”

“Miles…”

“But you see, I don’t think they paid their taxes last year. Right, Bass?”

“Not a penny.” He answered, not so much enjoying the brothers as he was fascinated by them.

“Are you or Rachel willing to have their blood on your hands?”

Ben was quiet, fuming, disbelieving.

“The blood will be only on the Militia’s hands.”

“Either you’ll break first or we’ll find you,” Miles told him plainly.

Ben closed the distance with forceful steps; Bass moved to stand between the two, but determined soon that he posed little threat.

“This won’t work and you’ve gone mad,” he spit into his brother’s face.

Miles narrowed his eyes, cold and resolute.

“Tell me—was there ever any passion in your marriage or was it all just to get your perfect little family?

Ben surged forward, but Bass caught him and delivered a painful right hook, knocking the man to the concrete ground. Miles placed a steady, halting hand on his arm.

“What will you do?” Ben sputtered through the blood trickling from his nose, “Lock her in a cell until she loves you? If you really felt anything you’d let her stay with her children.”

Miles nodded at Bass, who went to the door and called forth the guards in the hall.

“You have my terms, Ben,” he declared as they dragged the man from the room.

As soon as the door shut, Miles inhaled sharply. Bass moved closer and put a silent hand on his shoulder.

“That was my brother, Bass.”

“I’m your brother now. And you did well.”

The churning in his gut, the wondering if he tried to reach too far, the nagging premonition of some ultimate price, stayed with Miles for a while.

The constant guilt, however, came not from what he was doing, but that he knew his brother was right.

He had never felt anything for Rachel herself. All he knew was that the sight of her and her happy blonde children filled him with creeping envy, ire, desire.

He cared not what he took from Ben; the point was that he took it.


	3. and when the storm comes crashing on the plain

By the time she came, he had found an excuse to have her.

Bass made his disapproval clear, but let Miles do what he wanted.

After her arrest, he had her brought promptly to his tent. The soldiers seated her, but Miles’ gaze floated past Rachel’s tense frame.

“Are you actually going to prosecute me?” she asked him softly.

“Hmm?”

He would not even grace her with words.

“You had me arrested on an actual charge, unless you’ve forgotten.”

“Do you want to be tried for murder?”

“No.” Her voice caught. “Do you even have courts?”

“We have ways of administering our own justice,” he answered flatly.

“And how medieval are your punishments?”

When he did not respond, Rachel resorted to studying the tent.

“Where is Sebastian?” she asked.

“Bass? He’ll meet us back at headquarters.”

His apathy wore on her.

“Are you going to do anything with me, Miles?” she finally burst out after another unbearable silence, “Or just stand there looking lost?”

“We need your help, Rachel.”

“Is that your excuse now? Just get over whatever—”

His distant eyes finally settled, quieting her. He began a clinical examination, like he was buying livestock at the market, not telling his brother’s wife her fate.

“We need you for something.”

“What?”

“Several benefactors have been more than generous to our cause. We need to repay them.”

“And I?”

“We need to repay them. You’re smart. You can figure this out.”

The horror finally dawned on her.

“No,” she shook her head and rose to meet him, “You’re not that far gone. I’m a person. I’m family, Miles. _Please._ ”

 “The world’s changed.”

“Miles—”

“We can’t get emotional. Everyone has to sacrifice something.”

“Not this, not me. I came voluntarily and I’ll leave if I have—”

“No, Rachel, you won’t.” He captured her handcuffed wrists to stop her from retreating. “You can’t outrun our Militia.”

She stared at him relentlessly, doing her best to mask the terror that was swelling in her stomach.

“Instead, you’re going to gift me to the highest bidder. The one who gives your twisted military the most gold or arms or grains. Like I’m a—a commodity.”

She felt his gaze catalogue her features—full blue eyes, wisps of gold hair, a hint of pink adorning her cheekbones.

“We’ll probably just lend you.”

She pushed back violently with a hoarse cry, the fear victorious.

Miles caught her and lowered her back to her seat, ignoring the angry nails that stung his skin.

“You’ll need to be more civilized than that. You’ll give these men what they want and they’ll give us what we need to bring order to this world again.”

He could feel her hands, sweaty and shaky and still in his.

“And if I don’t?” she asked.

“We’ll find your family.”

“You’d torture your own niece and nephew?”

He didn’t respond for a moment.

“I’ll do what the republic needs me to do,” he finally justified.

She swallowed her tears and exhaustion and hope for one last attempt.

“ _Please_ —”

“I think you should go to bed now. We have a long journey back to headquarters.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know this seems really harsh, but we’ve seen past dark-Miles use people for his own ends without hesitation before. (But poor Rachel, this just continues with everyone using her and it’s led to her knowing how to use other people in a rather scary and unpredictable manner.) This was jokingly saved my hopeless explanation fic because I don't know how they’re going to deal with Rachel and Miles on the show in terms of what could’ve happened that would’ve still led to a relationship that isn’t 100 percent frakked up; I feel like whatever they do is going to end up seeming rather Stockholm syndrome-y anyhow. Thanks for reading!


	4. i am not a stranger to the rain

Rachel watched the young woman, trying not to think of the desperate voice that had called out behind her back as she walked away from her family.

The girl was in her teens and looked nothing like Charlie, sharp features and a cascade of silky black hair, but she was young enough to hardly remember the world before the Blackout.

“I didn’t catch your name,” Rachel said to break the silence.

“I wasn’t supposed to give it to you.”

Her reply was confident but wavered slightly.

“Sit straight in the chair please,” she asked politely.

Rachel obliged with sigh.

“I told Miles I could ready myself,” she pointed out.

“Yes, you’ve been taking great care of yourself, Ma’am.”

Her fingers lightly combed through stringy, wayward curls that Rachel hadn’t bothered to brush since she had arrived.

“The General is paying me to make you look presentable.”

She worked at the mess with a comb, tugging and pulling gently.

“Do you know why?” Rachel questioned, her volume low.

The girl hesitated, then pretended that all her energy was focused on securing the golden mass into an elegant French twist. When she’d accomplished the feat, she moved around to the front.

“Yes. I know,” she responded, “May I please have your hand?”

She proceeded to silently paint her client’s nails with the precision of a professional. Where the Militia had found the small, uninjured bottle, Rachel didn’t know, but something as superfluous as nail polish would not have disappeared fast from storerooms.

The tips of her hands glistened with a pale, unassuming baby blue. Unassuming—that was how Miles saw her.

“How did you get this job? I haven’t seen many people hiring stylists lately.”

“It’s more of a hobby really. I run a laundry business with my sister and we started experimenting with some of the stuff we scavenged out of abandoned drug stores. Now that the city’s getting more organized and civilized, some people will pay for a nice hairstyle.”

She moved in closer.

“Close your eyes please, and don’t move.”

Rachel was patient as the woman’s careful hands turned her into something she never had been.

She pulled back as Rachel opened her eyes slowly.

“You really are beautiful,” the young woman told the cautious figure in front of her.

Rachel swallowed with difficulty.

“I never thought that mattered much.”

Not knowing what to say, her nameless companion nodded at the expanse of blue fabric draped over the bed.

“And now the dress.”

It was slightly loose, and to be fair, Rachel thought that before the Blackout it would have fit like a glove. The walking and physical labor had taken some pounds off her, not to mention the meals she had forfeited during rough winters so that her children could eat.

Still, she did feel beautiful after she slipped on the small heels to match.

She also felt completely and utterly wrong.

She didn’t want the dress on her any more than she wanted Miles’ approving gaze on her or a stranger’s hands.

To protect her family, however, all she could do was the tear the dress away hastily the next morning and wash her face and body again and again, tears mixing with makeup and sweat and the pungent smell of her own shame.

In two weeks, Miles would have her do it again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So this is probably really uncouth to do and I'm sorry, but as I kept thinking about this story today, after finally seeing it all together, I really felt there was a piece missing. So I'm adding a chapter in and I hope it works better overall. Thank you to everyone who's read and left kudos so far; it means a lot to me!


	5. i’ve learned not to tremble when I hear the thunder roar

He found Bass lingering outside the steel door to the cell, sweaty and brooding.

“What?” Miles asked, urgent.

“She shot him,” Bass replied, his voice low and distraught.

“She—what? How—how could she?”

“Apparently he kept a gun in his nightstand. She found it. Two messy bullets to the chest and recovery looks slim.”

Miles was still confused.

“The Kearney Estate is almost ten miles away. How did she get here?”

“She also shot three of his men—luckily none are in critical condition—and made it about half a mile before one of our watches picked her up. They were smart and brought her immediately to us.”

“What’s the situation with the family?”

“His son demands justice. Wants her. Cooperating with him might be the only way to keep his support—”

“No.” Miles’ response was decisive.

“No?"

“No, Bass. Let me see her.”

“Miles—she was your idea in the first place and if we lose one of our best backers because—”

“Because I let him rape my sister-in-law and she fought back? Then we lose them. There are more Kearney families willing to support us.”

“Miles—” Bass began.

“I’m going to see her now.”

She had chosen a spot on the cold cell floor; everyone that entered was clearly in her sight, but she herself was draped in shadows. Even in the dark, Miles could make out disheveled hair, the remains of a nice dress and an ugly, growing bruise on her cheek.

“You okay?”

His immediate concern was surprising, but her reply was harsh.

“Do you have any right to ask me that?”

“Did Kearney hit you?” He nodded at her injured face.

“I have more. Care to see them?”

“Rachel, I didn’t want—”

“What?” she interrupted, not angrily but as someone past the point of caring, “You didn’t want me to get hurt? Or maybe you’re just sorry you can’t keep using me for your sick ends?”

“Rachel.” His voice was uneven, gravelly. She of all people managed to chip away at the façade he so carefully used to avoid connection.

“Oh, am I supposed to have sympathy for you?” More venom poured from her mouth. “For you and your bad decisions? Well, your bad decisions ruin—”

She choked.

“They ruin and—and destroy—”

Rachel had no more energy to feel sorry, to feel hurt or lonely or vicious or lost.

She no longer could differentiate between any emotions except for one grasping hand of despair that squeezed at the very core of her and pushed hot and heavy tears fast down her cheeks.

“Let me go, Miles.”

He squatted on the floor, not allowing himself to touch her.

“Not yet.”

He released her from her cell almost immediately, leading her back to her room and giving her a place at their table.

There were no more forced encounters, no more packaging her in formal dresses with make-up and painful smiles. There was no more shipping her off to helpless nights.

It was Bass who insisted on punishment for her actions, but Miles refused.

Some days he thought his lengthy visits with her were punishment enough, lazy hours spent trying to coax words of any kind from her sealed lips.

Other days, when she would turn her face towards him to listen in interest, her apathetic look finally banished, he thought he might be helping.


	6. i’ll dance before the lightning to music sacred and profane

“Why is she still here, Miles?”

The question was common one to grace Bass’ lips. He was right; neither had any logical reason to keep her in their fancy rooms like caged bird any longer.

But how could Miles explain? How could he put into words how close he was to having what he wanted?

The only reason to keep her was the reason he’d taken her in the first place. Now, however, it was genuine.

It was an old cliché to covet your brother’s wife, but it struck him how he’d never wanted her until he had her.

 _Until he’d ruined her,_ reminded a voice in his head.

 He pushed such thoughts away day after day.

One visit he dared to capture her quiet lips tenderly with his.

“You bastard,” she whispered to him after he pulled away. The heavy rain rattled against the old windowpanes.

When she leaned forward for a deeper kiss, all he could taste was the salt from her tears.

He knew that a part of her wanted to throttle him, stab him, push him through the glass to deliver him dead at the feet of his precious Militia below.

Instead she let him pin her to the window seat, fingers drifting down his clean shaven face and neck to play with the buttons of his uniform.

He stopped her.

“Rachel—” He drew her face to his. “Rachel, are you sure you—”

“Stop pretending you’re a good guy, Miles, and just get it over with.”

He did not know how to respond to her brashness.

Rachel didn’t wait for him to figure it out, finishing the buttons on her own and pushing him back onto the cushion.

When they were done, she laid her flushed forehead against cool glass and watched the rivers of rainwater snake downward.

It would’ve been easier if Miles had left, like he had taken what he wanted from her. Instead he stayed with an arm curled around her sticky skin for a long while.

If she ignored the peace it brought her maybe it wouldn’t matter.

He returned the simple silver band to her after their third time. It rolled in a playful circle on the table like some useless coin before falling over.

Rachel didn’t cry or even look him in the face, just lifted the ring up to examine it.

The pale spot on her left hand was filled again and the irony was not lost on him as the same fingers pulled at his hair moments later.

Miles began to promise her things, simple and artificial at first. That he would find her nicer clothes and bring tropical fruit back to her plate. That he would scour the country for the right books to occupy her time. That he would steal her away from the humid city and let her walk in the rain again.

He knew she wanted only one thing. It was first and only thing she had asked him to promise her.

He couldn’t give that to her, so his words, spoken to the soft hollow beneath her jaw in the forbidden hours of the evening, became wishes for himself.

One day he would save her. One day he would tear himself and Bass and all those he spent years telling himself he didn’t care about away.

He would tear them away from the monster they had created.


	7. light no candle for my sake

It had been the shallowest shadow of a thought throughout their expansion, but the more he watched Rachel’s face the more he heard his brother’s voice over and over again in his head.

_“It’s going to go off—”_

Miles found himself at her locked door.

“I need to talk to you,” he announced as he entered the stuffy room.

“Then talk.” She balanced her book on her knee.

“What did Ben know about the Blackout?”

She was caught off guard but not for long.

“Nothing. Why?”

“Why are you lying?”

“I’m not.”

“Rachel—” He moved to stand in front of her. “You can trust me.”

“Can I?”

“Ben called us before everything went off. He knew something was happening.”

“The sequence the Blackout occurred in must have started with us first. He wanted to warn you.”

“Sequence?”

“If there was one,” she added quickly.

He pulled her to her feet sharply, taut hands wrapping themselves around her wrists.

“You’ve really become a fantastic liar, Rachel.”

“I only learn from the best, Miles.”

He paused, searching for any crack in her armor. She’d already split his into a million pieces.

“Listen—”

“I don’t know anything to tell you. So torturing me would be—”

“No. Stop, listen—"

“Ben doesn’t know anything. Leave him and my—”

“Listen to me!” His words were rough and frustrated.

She quieted, desperate blue eyes searching his.

“I don’t care. I don’t care what you know or did. Just—whatever happens, don’t tell Bass.”

“Is there something going on, Miles?” she asked under her breath, “Should we even be having this conversation?”

Miles swallowed stiffly, his hands releasing hers. Instead they floated up and brushed errant strands of hair away from her face.

“Just be careful.”

Like everyone else, he heard the shot echo through the building.

A flurry of soldiers, blood pooling in the thick rug and her limp, still features composed the picture he managed to glimpse through the doorway. Bass restrained him, understanding words telling him in his ear that they had it under control and he was unneeded.

“Did you do this?” he asked his friend through icy shock, without preamble.

Bass’ hurt was genuine.

“No, Miles. I swear, no. We think it was a freelance assassin. From what we can tell, based out of Chicago. It seems Rachel was his only target.”

Fear gripped tightly at Miles. Maybe his brother had finally grown a pair.

Maybe Bass hadn’t shot her, but that didn’t mean he was above lying to Miles about her recovery. He drove Miles to leave, the last person Bass could claim as family rallying a little less than fifty troops to accompany him out the muddy gates of the city.

General Monroe could only watch.

He refused to fire upon them and knew that the mix of all ranks and loyalties and would scatter back into the underbelly of the Republic as soon as they fell out of sight. 

Miles would be back, he assued himself. The man had left two pieces of his heart in Philadelphia. He took small comfort in the fact that he had one piece chained to a dirty wall in the basement.

Still, if he didn't return, Bass would make Rachel fill the gaping hole that had opened inside of him.

 

* * *

 

Miles knew it was her blonde head before he opened his mouth.

She turned and climbed off Strausser’s body—cautious, startled, indignant, relieved, everything she had been to him.  

He knew stood there like an idiot and the footsteps of pursuing soldier pounded heavy in his ears.

But Rachel was alive, of all the things.

The assumption he had built the last five years of his life around unfolded before his eyes and the complicated mess that settled in his gut could not help but hope.

His warm handprint lingered between her shoulder blades as they fled together.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Again sorry for awkwardly posting all at once; I've been working on this for a while and wanted to see if there was any major reveal with the two in the last episode, 1x15 (alas, no), before posting. I hope it made sense and thank you for reading!

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading!


End file.
